


A Vampire in Harlan

by Pidgey



Category: Justified
Genre: AU from Pilot, M/M, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Vampires, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 23:18:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7865365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pidgey/pseuds/Pidgey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raylan Givens returns to his home town and to Boyd. A retelling of the S01E01 of Justified.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Vampire in Harlan

“Now do you know who the Etamites are? They’re the Jews, Raylan.” Boyd intones with his hands pressed together as if mocking a prayer.

“You’re serious?” Raylan sneers with disgust from where he is slouched casually in the pews of the church.

“Read your bible, as interpreted by experts.” Boyd laughs with a wide, toothy smile.

Raylan chuckles darkly and then smirks deeply. He stands deliberately slowly, “You know Boyd,” he drawls, removes his hat and stares at it in his hands for a moment, “I think you just use the bible to do whatever you want.”

“Well,” he watches Raylan intensely and his voice drops, “what do you think I like, Raylan?”

Raylan carefully places his hat on the end of a pew. He pauses for a long moment before looking up at Boyd. His eyes seem to be almost glowing and he takes a step forward as he almost growls, “You like to get money and blow shit up.” He steps towards Boyd again his voice suddenly sultry, “I used to know what else you liked Boyd.”

Boyd doesn’t flinch, doesn’t step back but Raylan smirks as he notices Boyd swallow, “People change Raylan, I’ve found my way to the true path, the true cause.”

“Are you sure?” Raylan tilts his head, his anger rumbling below his skin, “Because I think the truth is you haven’t changed at all. I think you know your ‘cause’ is bullshit, and they would kill you if they knew what you are.”

Raylan crowds into Boyd’s space using every inch of his extra height to tower over Boyd. He literally sees red and knows it must be showing in his eyes. He feels a rush of satisfaction as Boyd pales and steps backwards. Raylan follows step for step until Boyd’s back hits the wall of the church. “You aren’t stupid enough to believe that mud people story. You know, I’ve been travelling, met plenty of people, they opened my eyes to a whole world, these people-the ‘movement’ would hate ‘em.”

“I am confident there’s a good reason for that.” Boyd says defiantly, holding Raylan’s eyes despite their proximity.

Raylan scoffs, “Their reasons ain’t the same as yours. You just want the power their hatred gives you. Maybe I should just take that away from you.”

Before Boyd can say anything else Raylan grins broadly and Boyd’s words catch in his throat as he sees the fangs that have appeared in Raylan’s mouth. Suddenly Raylan yanks Boyd forward. One arm locks around Boyd’s lower back and his other hand yank Boyd’s hair back roughly. Raylan grins even broader, “What’s wrong Boyd? No bible quotes for this?”

Boyd struggles fiercely, but Raylan’s grip is like iron. He shoves uselessly at the taller man as he leans in slowly, still fucking grinning like the cat that got the canary. Suddenly pain shoots through his neck and shoulder like fire, his vision goes strangely white for a moment. It felt like Raylan was tearing him open.  He tries to shout but Raylan’s lower teeth, still thankfully blunt, press harshly against his windpipe and all that comes out is a ragged grasp. Boyd struggles again, Raylan slams him back against the wall, effectively pinning him and sending a new line of pain up Boyd’s throat. Boyd pushes at Raylan’s chest uselessly and tries to kick out with his legs but Raylan merely slips a knee between Boyd’s legs and pins him more completely. Boyd’s struggles slow, The immense pain in his neck blurs to a constant searing and his head spins. He focuses on the rafters of the church ceiling, breathing raggedly and praying that this isn’t how he dies.

“What the hell! Get off of him!” Devil’s shout seems far away, as if he is hearing it through water, and suddenly all pressure is removed from Boyd. He falls to the floor hard. Dazed he puts a hand to his throat, dimly registering the wetness there. He looks up to see Devil hadn’t managed to pull Raylan off like he had thought. Rather Raylan had dropped him and seemed to just talking quietly but firmly with the completely still Devil. Devil nods slowly before turning and walking slowly out of the church.

“Wait!” Boyd croaks, trying to get up but stumbling and landing hard on his hands. He notes distantly that he has left a single bloody handprint on the floor.

“He’s not listening to you anymore.” Raylan says coldly, blood around his mouth and down his chin. “I control him now; he will do what I say.”

He crouches in front of Boyd, “This is what I can do. Your Nazi boys, they ain’t got shit. I can make you mine too. Make you my helpless plaything and never let you go. Just try me Boyd. I’ve been in Harlan a day and I’m already sick of your shit.”

With that he stands, pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes the blood from his face. He tosses the handkerchief to Boyd. “I’d put pressure on that” he says casually, as if commenting on the weather.

He calmly and carefully retrieves his hat and without looking back strides out of the church.

 

* * *

 

Boyd takes a step up towards the porch of his brother’s house. It feels peculiar. He looks at the porch where he had spent many evenings drunk and shooting the shit with his brother, catching glimpses of Ava, rare as they were. He knew she was afraid of him and he hadn’t cared. He looked around this place, he expected the shadows of his brother to cause him sadness, but he just felt a mild irritation that Bowman hadn’t been less of an asshole in life.

Ava comes bounding out but her expression falls when she catches sight of Boyd darkening her doorway.

“Expecting someone else?” Boyd smirks. He steps forward, revelling in how she steps back, her eyes wary bordering on fearful.

“What are you doing here Boyd?” she demands.

He ignores her and steps forward again, “maybe a former mutual friend of ours? You been consorting with the lawman Ava?”

He steps forward again, beginning to draw his gun and prepared to threaten his way into the house, but then he saw them. Two tiny punctures in Ava’s beautiful neck, a small, delicate looking red bruise forming around them. They were a far cry from the large gash bandaged on Boyd’s own neck but they make him freeze nonetheless. He forces down the instinct to move his hand to cover his own wound and looks to see Ava staring at him with a mixture of distrust and curiosity.

Boyd replaces his gun in its holster. “You take care now Ava.” he says gently, worriedly, “You should stay away from Raylan. He’s not the man you remember and he will destroy you.”

He turns and leaves briskly, ignoring Ava’s questioning call, and doesn’t slow until he gets in his truck. Gripping the wheel tightly he squeezes his eyes shut, takes a deep shaky breath and holds it until he feels his lungs burn. Releasing it, he turns the key in the ignition and leaves his brother’s… Ava’s home behind him.

* * *

 

“Get your shit together boys, let’s go for a ride.” Boyd shouts as he swings into the trailer the next morning. Eyes wild he kicks at Dewey Crowe’s legs, “C’mon, get up.”

“Wazzat Boyd?” Dewey says groggily from the couch.

“I got a box of dynamite and a building that needs our tender, loving care!”

Boyd knows he must look manic but as he sees his men mobilise in a disorganised rush he can’t bring himself to care. He lets Devil drive and after rattling off the address he closes his tired eyes, feeling the wind from the open car window and letting the rushing noise drown out his own thoughts.

When they arrive at the restaurant, closed for the day, Boyd moves quickly and efficiently. Breaking in through the back door he set up the charges and wiring mindlessly. His blood pumping with the anticipation. He gets back to the car with a large shark-like grin on his face. He stands on the floor by the open door and practically crows “Fire in the hole!” whooping as a torrent of smoke and dust bursts forth from the building. He drinks in the sight and the destruction until the debris begins to settle. Swinging back into the car he tilts his head back against the seat and breathes deeply.

“Where’s the second location?”

“Hmmn?” he lolls his head to the side to look at Devil in the driver’s seat.

“The second location? Where’re we hitting?”

“Nowhere. Take me home.”

He knows Devil is staring at him but knows not to ask anything. It’s something Boyd has always been thankful for about the man. Dewey on the other hand bitches and moans all the way back to the trailer. Boyd marches inside and collapses onto the bed. His head throbs dully and he feels completely spent. He lets the darkness take him, finally at peace and able to sleep, however temporarily.

When he wakes the sky has dimmed considerable. He sees Devil sitting in a chair by the bed staring at him with a beer in his hands.

“To what do I owe this pleasure of being watched in my sleep?” Boyd questions.

“I’m just sitting here,” Devil says, “wondering where the fuck your head is at.”

“Excuse me?” Boyd says warningly.

“I’m just saying Boyd, we blew up a fucken useless, empty building today for no reason. No plan beforehand, no money outta it, no robbery. Just cuz.”

“It was for the movement, that place was a popular hangout for…”

“Save it Boyd. A popular hangout for Blacks? Every fucken place round there was. This is about the marshal coming by the other day ain’t it?”

Boyd goes silent at that, he looks Devil up and down for some sign that he remembers what happened in the church. “What do you mean?” Boyd asks cautiously.

Devil snorts, “Come off it Boyd, everyone heard the rumours about you two. I heard my mom saying you two were gonna get yourselves killed but she’d love to see the look on Bo’s face when he found out his boy was a queer. Plus, I saw how close you were standing in the church. And now you ain’t sleepin’ and you’re fucken reckless as shit, all cuz Raylan Givens walked back into town.”

Boyd’s stomach sank like a stone. Devil didn’t remember the church, for all Boyd knew he could still be under Raylan’s power and worse he knew about the past. He fucking knew. “It’s not like that,” Boyd says, barely above a whisper.

“Maybe not anymore but he shows up and you pull this shit. I don’t give a damn Boyd, I really don’t. But I ain’t going back to jail because you’re all torn up over your homo crush.”

Boyd glares but bites his tongue. If it was anyone else, he probably would’ve eviscerated them then and there, if it had been Dewey he probably would’ve killed him.

“Get it together Boyd. S’all I’m saying. Don’t let some goddamn law man get to you.” Devil finishes his beer and sets the bottle on the table.

“Get out. Now.” Boyd bites out. Devil merely nods and leaves Boyd alone to his thoughts.

He sits in the silence of the trailer, it presses down on him, oppressive and choking. He grabs the beer bottle and throws it as hard as he can. It shatters against the far wall and Boyd feels no better.

* * *

 

 

Boyd is reading when Raylan stops by with another marshal in tow. He so rarely finds time to read these days but finds himself in need of the solace the familiar words provide. His peace is shattered by Dewey running in shouting about the law being here. Boyd almost rolls his eyes. Subtlety was never Dewey’s forte. Boyd silently gathers himself and tries to shake off the sense of dread he feels at facing Raylan again.

He strides out, affecting his usual confidence and spreading his arms wide.

“Raylan! Visiting me again so soon. I suppose you just can’t resist my charms.”

“I’ll admit; you are somewhat of an acquired taste Boyd.” Raylan grins like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard and Boyd silently curses him as his stomach flips unpleasantly. He notices the younger marshal giving Raylan a strange look. Boyd suddenly wondered if Raylan had ever fed on the man standing casually behind him, if the man, clearly military from his stance, had any idea of the creature he was working with. Maybe Raylan was simply controlling him too.

“What can I do for you marshals?” Boyd says graciously, hoping no one noticed his pause.

 “Well, seems someone blew up a restaurant downtown yesterday, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you Boyd?” Raylan leans back putting his hands on his hips.

“Why would you think I know anything about that?” Boyd says, mock offended and the picture of innocence.

The blond marshal snorts, “Yeah, it’s a totally unprecedented and baseless accusation.”

“Why marshal,” Boyd narrows his eyes, “we’ve yet to even be introduced and you’re already maligned my character.”

“Tim Gutterson. Now we’re friendly and all I stand by my maligning.” Tim quipped.

Boyd smiles genuinely. Falling back into the natural pattern of baiting law enforcement makes him feel comfortable in his own skin for the first time in days. He almost forgets Raylan is there until the man _growls_ and stalks forward.

“Cut the crap, Boyd. We know you did it. Now are you gonna play the same stupid game and feed me some bullshit alibi or what?”

Boyd forces himself to remain still, even though he swears he sees that flash of red in Raylan’s eyes. The same flash of red that has kept Boyd alert and armed day and night, “Well _marshal_ I was here, all day long. Minding my own damn business, how about you?”

Raylan steps close and speaks low so only Boyd can hear, “I warned you Boyd. Maybe I need to take more drastic measures.” Boyd can feel a shudder coming on but suppresses it.

Raylan steps back, “C’mon Tim, we’re done here.”

Tim looks to Boyd and tips an invisible hat, “Been a pleasure Crowder, almost worth the 3-hour drive down here in dead silence.”

“Pleasure was all mine Mr Gutterson.” Boyd smirks and bows slightly with a flourish.

* * *

 

That night Boyd is still consumed by Raylan’s threats. He paces from one end of the trailer to the other. He contemplates the bottle of shine on the counter, dismissing it after a long moment. There was a reason he was restless and he would do well to keep his wits about him. He scrubs a hand over his face and collapses onto one of the sofas. He feels a wave of exhaustion but as soon as he closes his eyes he knows he won’t sleep, yet again.

He hears the door wing open with a clatter and jumps to his feet. Raylan is standing in the doorway glancing around the trailer with open disdain before his eyes zero in on Boyd.

“Two explosions in one week. I guess my message wasn’t clear enough.” Raylan smirks and Boyd seethes.

“What can I say? I’m a slow learner.” Boyd snaps.

“Clearly.” Rayan says, unperturbed.

 “So tell me, why do all this? This low stakes shitkicking? It clearly isn’t for the money.” Raylan gestures at the dingy surroundings.

Boyd feels his ire rise, “And what exactly is it to you Raylan? What does it matter? Are you really so high and mighty? What did you come back here for; justice and the law? Neither mean much for Harlan. Or did you just come back to harass me? See how ‘low’ I’ve sunk so you feel better about getting out?”

“I didn’t choose to come back here at all.”

“So why not just leave me alone?”

“Cuz I remember you Boyd! The real you and not this thing you’ve become.” Raylan insists.

Boyd snorts, “Thing? Bit rich coming from you. And how the hell are you so sure this isn’t the real me?”

He spreads his arms and all but shouts, “This is me, in all God’s glory. What are you going to do about it?”

“I’ll stop you. One way or the other.” Raylan starts advancing towards Boyd, “I can’t let you keep breaking the law now can I? Blowing shit up. It seems to be in your nature. So I guess it’s up to me to change that nature huh?”

He reaches Boyd and grasps his chin forces the shorter man to look at him. Boyd grits his teeth angrily which only makes Raylan smile wider. He leans in, his breath ghosting over Boyd’s cheek.

“You wouldn’t even know the difference.” Raylan’s lips brush against Boyd’s neck, feeling his pulse flutter below the skin, “I could just do it right now and you’d be mine for…”

A gunshot rings out, unbelievably loud and impossibly close. Raylan stumbles backwards and looks down to see the red bloom from his stomach and rapidly across his shirt. The smell overwhelmed him along with the acrid smell of stomach acid. He looks up to see Boyd holding a pistol between them, still aimed at his stomach. Raylan stumbles backward until his back hits the wall and he feels his knees give out as he slumps to the floor. Boyd nonchalantly pulls a chair from the table and sinks into it, knees spread wide and elbows resting on his thighs.

“Now you see the thing is Raylan,” he gestures with the gun, “I never belonged to anybody and I am not going to start now.”

He watches Raylan clutch at his stomach and moan in pain, “Now tell me son, is that enough to kill you or do I need to find a wooden stake and shove it through your heart?”

Raylan smiles toothily but it comes out as a wince, “No, I am dying, that’s pretty certain right now.”

Boyd frowns, “I was under the impression vampires couldn’t die without being staked.”

Raylan laughed weakly before clutching at his wound again, “Boyd, I first came to find you in broad daylight in a church. How much of the legends do you think is true?”

Boyd hadn’t thought of that, “So you age? You eat food and sleep and die? Crosses do nothing?”

Raylan nods, his eyes shut against the pain.

“So what good is being a vampire?” Boyd demands. He stands up and starts pacing again before whirling to face Raylan again.

 “Did you really even do anything to Johnny?” Boyd asks incredulously gesturing wildly.

“I did... Enthralled him... Only lasts a couple of minutes, blurred him a bit. It really just gives me access to blood magic, I can hear, smell… am stronger.” He shifts, uselessly trying to alleviate his pain, “I’m just human with a bit of a kick.”

“Well shit Raylan,” Boyd sinks back into the chair “what was all that talk about making me your thrall and never letting me go?”

“I wanted… you to think I could. Thought I could scare you out of this Nazi bullshit.”

“I don’t scare so easy Raylan.”  He says gently.

“I can see that.” Raylan nods at his wound. The blood is leaking sluggishly through the gaps in his fingers, there really is an alarming amount already, “Plus, I thought it was pretty hot. Guess… I got carried away.”

Boyd raises an eyebrow, he slides to his knees on the floor, unbuttoning and stripping his flannel shirt leaving just his undershirt and moves Raylan’s hands aside to press the shirt to the wound, “Vampire dirty talk Raylan? I’m afraid I really am not into that, or your little power play.”

Raylan groans loudly in pain, pressing his blood soaked hands over Boyd’s own, “Dammit Boyd, you could’ve just said no.”

“I believe I did, emphatically, on several occasions.”

“Shit you really did didn’t you? I’m sorry Boyd, I’ve been a jackass. I was…am... so angry at how things turned out.” Raylan raises a shaky hand to cup Boyd’s cheek, stroking gently with his thumb and leaving a bloody smear on Boyd’s face, “Even with all this shit, it really was good to see you Boyd, one last time.”

Boyd looks crushed and looks at Raylan with watery eyes, “I’m sorry too love. I’m sorry you’re dying and I’m sorry things couldn’t be different with us.”

Raylan nods, his hand dropping weakly, “We always fuck up don’t we?”

Boyd chokes on the laugh that dares to come up, “Is there anything we can do? Can’t you just… use blood magic?”

“I can…slow the bleeding maybe. Might be enough to get to the hospital, I don’t know.”

“So why aren’t you doing it?” Boyd demands.

“Blood magic Boyd. Needs blood. I’d have to drain someone.”

Boyd freezes. A shudder almost rises through him but he forces himself to remain still. He still doesn’t trust Raylan; he only his word that he can’t do anything permanent to Boyd. It was only minutes before that all he wanted was to hurt Raylan badly. He thought back to the church, the pain, the helplessness he felt in Raylan’s vice-like grip. Still, Raylan was in a bad way, dying. Raylan couldn’t die, not if there was a chance… “You can drain me.”

“What?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself Givens,” Boyd orders with more authority and confidence than he feels. He helps shift Raylan into more of a sitting position, ignoring his grunts of pain. He straddles Raylan gingerly, pushing more firmly against the flannel shirt to hide the shaking of his hands, “Just don’t… Don’t kill me alright?”

Raylan nods sharply, “I won’t Boyd, I swear to god. I…”

Boyd shushes him. He leans forward, his head tilted far to the side to expose his neck. In any other scenario Raylan would find the act extremely arousing but between his pain and Boyd’s palpable fear he only feels nauseated by it. He gently slides his hand into the hair at the base of Boyd’s head and pulls him forward. He presses his lips to Boyd’s throat feeling the alarmingly fast beat of his pulse.

“It’s alright,”  Raylan murmurs, “I won’t hurt you.”

He opens his mouth and his tongue flicks out against Boyd’s neck, tasting the sweaty skin there. He grazes his now extended fangs against the skin over the vein just to the side of Boyd’s windpipe.

“Get on with it,” Boyd whispers shakily. Raylan sinks his fangs into Boyd’s neck in one swift motion and hears the other man gasp. He is far gentler this time but even without the brutal tearing from last time he knows the bite hurts. He feels the blood rush over his tongue and down his throat and it tastes like heaven, like sweat and earth and Harlan and Boyd, Boyd, Boyd. His stomach clenches painfully as the blood hits it and he is dragged out of his euphoria by the sensation. He can feel Boyd shake in his arms and his body is tense like a violin string. Raylan reaches the hand not clutching Boyd’s hair up around him and slides it up under his thin undershirt. He strokes up and down Boyd’s spine in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. It seems to be working as Boyd relaxes slightly and moves one hand off of the flannel to brace against the wall by Raylan’s head. Another jolt of pain at the change in pressure and Raylan realises he needs to start working. It’s hard to focus now, his own blood is thin in his body and between Boyd’s spilling into him and the smell and feel of the smaller man in his arms it takes every ounce of Raylan’s willpower to focus on the healing spell. He mentally feels the holes in either side of his stomach, acid and now Boyd’s blood leaking into his abdominal cavity, not much he can do about that now, he’d just be fighting the immense flow of the fluids in his belly. He follows the path of the bullet and finds the pieces lodged in the muscle of his lower back, relatively harmless at the moment. He searches around and finds the problem, an artery has been pierced. He focuses on slowly knitting the arterial wall back together, willing it to heal at an unnaturally fast pace. By the time it’s done Raylan feels exhausted, his vision blurs. He releases Boyd and shuts his eyes. He focuses his strength on repairing a few smaller veins, trying to give himself the best chance. He opens his eyes to see Boyd staring at him worriedly, oblivious to the blood dribbling from the punctures in his neck.

“Did it work?” He sounds terrified.

Raylan smiles and pulls Boyd forward again. He licks the dribble of blood and channels the last of the energy from Boyd’s blood into healing the small wounds. He releases Boyd and slumps back against the wall, his last thought as his vision fades to black is that Boyd looks really pretty right now, covered in blood as he is.

That’s pretty fucked up Raylan, he grins to himself.

* * *

 

Raylan wakes to the steady beep of machines. He groans and opens his eyes. He sees an older man with a bald head and a bushy grey beard looming above him.

“Welcome back son.” The man grins broadly.

“Whaa?” Raylan croaks, not able to get his questions out.

“You’re extremely luck son. You’ve been shot but we’ve managed to repair the damage to your stomach and you should make a full recovery. You lost an alarming amount of blood and your abdominal cavity was full of it but strangely enough only minor veins were damaged.”

“Where’s Boyd?” he croaks, not caring about the doctor’s prognosis. He’d explored the damage himself earlier.

The doctor frowned, “I don’t know who you mean. Your fellow marshal is waiting outside though. Would you like me to send him in?”

Raylan nods tightly. He just wants to see Boyd, his last memory of the man was of fear and blood and the guilt over how he had treated Boyd felt worse than any physical pain.

The doctor leaves and Art comes in. The Chief looks strained and tired and Raylan feels a stab of guilt.

“Jesus Raylan, I know we don’t always get along but do you have to try so hard to give me a heart attack?”

“I live to serve Art.”

“I’m sure you do.” Art sits in the chair, “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been shot.” Art chuckles at that. “Art, what happened after I passed out?”

Art looks perturbed, “Well that’s the strange thing Raylan. Boyd Crowder calls the paramedics, when they get there he’d been giving you first aid. He hasn’t said a word since except to ask if you’d woken up yet.”

“Where is he?” Raylan tries to sit up but moans in pain and lays back down making Art look at him worriedly.

“That’s the only good thing to come from this; he’s in holding. Prosecutor says we can charge him with attempted murder of a marshal. He’s going away long enough that the Crowder’s will be a distant memory in Harlan.”

“You have to let him go!” Raylan says in a panic, he starts to sit forward but the pain in his gut forces him  back onto the bead with a groan. Boyd can’t go to jail because Raylan couldn’t keep his dick in his pants or his fangs in his goddamn mouth. It would be different if Boyd had been caught for a crime but this was somehow… unfair.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“It was an accident! I asked him to hand me the gun and it went off as he was passing it to me.”

Art scowled deeply, “That is genuinely the _single_ lamest excuse I’ve ever heard. Are you going to come to me in a week with a black eye and tell me you walked into a door?”

“I got shot gut shot at point blank range, you really think he wouln’ta been able to kill me at that range if he wanted? Believe what you want; that’s what happened and I’ll tell anyone who’ll listen.” Raylan stares defiantly. His message was clear, release Boyd or I will make sure he gets released.

“I will never fucking understand you will I?” Art shakes his head, “Are you sure about this?”

“Positive, cuz that’s what happened.”

Art stands shaking his head, “I’ll make the call. But know that this is probably our best chance to put him away.”

He pauses, “What the hell were you doing over there at 2am anyway. The black eye thing was a joke but is that something I genuinely have to be on the lookout for?”

Raylan says nothing, not quite meeting Art’s eyes and Art leaves, murmuring about goddamn hillbillies. Raylan sighs and allows himself to fall back asleep.

The next day Raylan wakes from a nap to the sound of the hospital chair scraping across the linoleum. He didn’t open his eyes and simply groaned, “I swear to god Tim if you try to get me to play poker one more time I’ll…”

“I won’t” came a soft voice, definitely not Tim. Raylan’s eyes shoot open and he sees Boyd sitting in the chair. He wore black jeans and a black denim jacket, the dark clothes amplifying how pale Boyd’s skin was and how dark the bags under his eyes were.

“I didn’t think you’d want to come near me again.” Raylan says gently.

“I would’ve come sooner but I was… held up.” Raylan smiles at the weak joke.

Silence hangs for a long moment. “How’re you feeling?” Raylan blurts suddenly.

“Oh swell Raylan. I loved fainting in a holding cell. Turns out I’m anaemic, I suppose I should keep a closer eye on my diet,” he drawls; the humour drops from his voice, “or at least you should watch yours.”

Raylan winces, “I took more than I should’ve. I’m sorry.”

He held Boyd’s gaze and willed him to see everything he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, say out loud. I’m sorry for scaring you, I’m sorry for overpowering you, I’m sorry for what we have become.

Boyd stares back silently and unmoving before shifting forward in his chair, his voice low, “It always seems to be the way doesn’t it Raylan? We are drawn together and inevitably ruin each other.”

Raylan shakes his head, “Doesn’t have to be. We could just start over. You and me.”

Boyd laughs darkly, “And suddenly I see the boy, still wet behind the ears, asking me to run away with him.”

He stands, rests his hand on Raylan’s upper arm, “I’m glad you didn’t die.” and with that he shoves his hands in his pockets and turns to leave.

“Boyd…” Raylan starts, suddenly full of nothing and everything to say.

Boyd pauses but doesn’t turn around, “No more blood drinking Raylan. Ever again. I didn’t much care for it.”

Raylan nods sincerely even though Boyd can’t see it and watches him leave.

Raylan brings a hand to his face and groans deeply in frustration.

Goddamn Harlan. Goddamn vampires and goddamn Boyd fucking Crowder.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic in about 5 years! Hope it's decent. Also I've only seen the first two seasons of Justified so no spoilers in the comments please! If I get more ideas I might return to this but for now it's a oneshot.


End file.
